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A HARP 
IN THE WINDS 




A HARP 

IN THE WINDS 

LYRICS FROM A GARDEN, AND 
SONGS OF CITY, SEA, AND ROAD 


DANIEL HENDERSON 

AUTHOR OF “life's MINSTREL,” ETC. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK >• LONDON * MCMXXIV 


/ 



COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


©C1A808698 ^ 

NOV -8 *24 ^ 



■K 

A 



TO 

THE MEMORY OF 
AN EARLIER POET 
MY FATHER 



FOREWORD 

The opportunity to say “read this and that” in 
a book of poems, “I like it and you will,” is always 
grateful because enthusiasms grow by being 
shared. No such service is necessary for those 
poems of Daniel Henderson’s which are made 
from the history of this continent. Their appeal 
is direct, their wording is felicitous, their popu¬ 
larity sure. They belong to the rapidly growing 
literature of the pioneer. 

Yet it seems to me that Daniel Henderson’s 
chief merit as a poet is more elusive. With him 
the power of what may be called emotional obser¬ 
vation has been developed to a high degree. Like 
the seventeenth century lyricists of rural England, 
he sees by phrases singularly beautiful and full of 
sense. Instead of vague terms, the very thing 
which lifts the heart—arbutus, egret, hibiscus, 
or snow-trail—comes into the poetry. “The 
Stranger” is a rich and glowing instance of this. 
So are his Caribbean lyrics, and even suburban 
New Jersey gets a rare fervour which a million 
stolid folk will never know she deserves. 

It takes all kinds of poems to make a book, and 
there is variety enough here to please many tastes 
in poetry. Yet it would be a pity if the happy 
lines of “Andrew Marvell” or the strength re¬ 
served of “Springtime Along the Pennsylvania 
Railroad” should be neglected. When he seems 
most delicate Henderson is at his strongest. 
Readers of this book should tune their perceptions 
for rich overtones. 


Henry S. Canby 











* 






s 





CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword By Henry S. Canby vii 

Lyrics from a Garden . i 

The Poet of Gardens. 3 

For the Tercentennial Year of Andrew 
Marvell 

The Stranger. 5 

Repentance. 7 

St. Swithin. 8 

October Garden.11 

Night Picture.12 

After the Storm. 13 

A Lilt for a Child 

Snow Fantasy.14 

Snow Trails ......... 15 

Melting Brook.16 

Minstrel Wind.17 

Love of Trees.19 

Winter Haze.20 


IX 
















X 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Caribbean Coasts and Other Sea Poems 21 

Sea Mist.23 

To a Sea-Gull.24 

The Captive of Igor.26 

A Caribbean Courtship.28 

A San Juan Impression.30 

The Scourged.31 

Song of the Port of St. Thomas 

St. Croix Sketches.33 

I. Moonlight.33 

II. Sugar.35 

III. The Melted.37 

IV. Harbor Attack.38 

Shipboard Poems.40 

I. Radio Message.40 

II. San Salvador.41 

III. Off Hatteras.42 

The Sunken City.43 

Port Royal, Jamaica 

Lyrics ..46 

The Windbell.49 

Jubal .51 

Song for the Senses.54 

An" Artist Comes to a City.56 





















CONTENTS xi 

PAGE 

Homecoming.57 

Love’s Legend.58 

Tenement Children.59 

The Man in Me.60 

Prayer for the Right Vocation ... 62 

Springtime Along the Pennsylvania 
Railroad.63 

Keats.64 

Friendship.65 

Prometheus in Jersey.66 

The Lilies of the Field.68 

The White Egret .70 

Dalliance.71 

The Young Men to the Old .... 72 

A Test for Poets.73 

The Alien. 74 

Generations.76 

The Sculptor.77 

A Chaplain Speaks 

A Soldier Listens to the Night Wind . 78 

Manhattan Portraits.79 

The Business Changes Hands .... 81 

Lackawanna Ferry.83 

The Commuter.85 

Jessica.87 

















xii CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Love in a Crowd.89 

Sunset through an Office Window . . 90 

Mirth. 93 

Manhattan Lions.95 

Addressed to the stone lions at the en¬ 
trance to the Nezv Vork Public Library 

Meditation on Dante.97 

On Certain Critics in the Poetry So¬ 
ciety .98 

The Press-Clipping Girl.99 

Address, Sotto Voce, to a Fur-Cloaked 
Woman.101 

American Trails.103 

Prelude.105 

Leif Ericson Opens the Path to America 
(A. D. 1000).107 

Pilgrim Mothers (1620).no 

Daniel Boone (1760).112 

The Half Moon and the Clermont (1807) 115 

The Stage Coach (1800).118 

The First Steamboat on the Mississippi 
(1811).121 

The Covered Wagon (1849) .... 123 

The Pony Express (i860).127 

The Coming of the Railroad (1828) . 129 

The Motor Age.135 














ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


For permission to reprint certain of these 
poems, the author is indebted to Harper’s Maga¬ 
zine, Scribner’s Magazine, McClure’s Magazine, 
Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, The Outlook, The 
Bookman, The Literary Review of the New York 
Evening Post, The Saturday Evening Post, The 
Forum, Contemporary Verse, The Woman’s Home 
Companion, The Ladies’ Home Journal, Every¬ 
body’s Magazine, The Youth’s Companion, and 
The Southern Literary Magazine. 

Salutations are made to F. P. A., Don Marquis, 
Grant Overton and Christopher Morley, who in 
their departments on the New York Tribune, 
New York Sun, and New York Evening Post, re¬ 
spectively, first printed some of these lines. 

The author also expresses his debt to The 
Nation’s Business, for permission to reprint the 
series of poems on American exploration and in¬ 
vention entitled u American Trails 



LYRICS FROM A GARDEN 



A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE POET OF GARDENS 
(For the Tercentennial Year of Andrew Marvell ) 


M ARVELL, still your fragrant rhyme 
Prospers on the bough of time! 
Far beyond Nunappleton 
Have your lovely lyrics run: 

Backward to Theocritus, 

Forward to the hearts of us! 


Walk this new world, splendid ghost! 
Watch Manhattan’s surging host! 
Would you dream our hearts are closes 
For your tulips and your roses? 

That your lilies and rosemary 
Give our souls a sanctuary? 

That the bird of silver wing 
Nests in our remembering? 


3 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Time will dull us; life will harden! 

But our thoughts shall keep your garden 
Green as when you taught a maid 
Latin verses in its shade! 

Green as when its wall shut out 
Roundhead brawl and royal rout! 

Green as when there came to birth 
Milton's heaven, Marvell's earth! 

Poet, see your sylvan view 
Fresh with an eternal dew! 


4 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE STRANGER 


I HEDGE rebellious grasses in, 
But when shall ownership begin? 

The spider spins her silver bars 
Between me and the cosmos’ stars, 


And ere I waken is astir 
To write revolt in gossamer! 


With beady and foreboding eye 
The turtle peers as I go by: 

The shell that shuts him in is stout— 
Stronger the code that shuts me out! 

What dauntless and primeval stock 
Makes yonder stone its council-rock? 

What old, indomitable breed 
Takes this low bush for Runnymede? 

5 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Races whose titles run from God 
Dispute my warrant to the sod! 

I am Intrusion! I am Danger! 
Familiar, but for aye—the Stranger! 


6 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


REPENTA NCE 


C OME, mad March! 

Do you repent 
Tempers so incontinent 
Vented on each darling bud 
That dared to lift through mist and mud 
To see you wavering in the hold— 

Of spring's warm arms and winter’s cold? 


Yea, wild month— 

It must be so! 

For see—the last fierce swirl of snow 
That was the symbol of your wrath, 

Has melted by the garden path, 

And bathes the jonquils’ shivering spears 
In a very flood of tears! 


7 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


ST. S W I T H I N 


“ | y URY me,” the bishop said, 
JLJ “Close to my geranium bed; 
Lay me near my gentle birch. 

It is lonely in the church, 

And its vaults are damp and chill! 
Noble men sleep there, but still 
House me in the friendly grass! 

Let the linnets sing my mass!” 


Dying Swithin had his whim, 
And the green sod covered him. 

Then what holy celebrations 
And what rapturous adorations, 
Joy no worldly pen may paint— 
Swithin had been made a saint! 


8 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Yet the monks forgot that he 
Craved for blossom, bird, and bee, 

And, communing round his tomb, 

Vowed its narrow earthen room 
Was unworthy one whose star 
Blazed in Peter’s calendar. 

“Who,” they asked, “when we are gone 
Will protect this sacred lawn? 

What if time’s irreverent gust 
Should disperse his holy dust?” 

Troubled by a blackbird’s whistle, 

Vexed by an invading thistle, 

They resolved to move his bones 
To the chaste cathedral stones. 

But the clouds grew black and thick 
When they lifted spade and pick, 

9 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


And they feared that they had blundered 
By the way it poured and thundered. 
Quoth the abbot: ‘‘Thus, I deem, 

Swithin shows us we blaspheme! 

He was fond of wind and rain; 

Let him in their clasp remain!” 

Forty days the heavens wept, 

But St. Swithin smiled and slept. 


io 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


OCTOBER GARDEN 


M Y garden feels the touch of fall 

And, like a damsel, winter dreading, 
She spins herself a damasked shawl 

With red and gold and purple threading. 

The cosmos breaks in starry bloom 
Upon the robe of her designing; 
Chrysanthemums from her rich loom 
Are warmly her deep bosom twining. 


October beats against her heart 
And blusters he will be her master! 
Defiantly she bends her art 

To weave perfection in an aster! 

Yet well the queenly maid must know, 
For all the splendor she may pattern, 
November's fierce, relentless blow 
Will show her to the world a slattern! 


ii 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 

NIGHT PICTURE 

A N oak rose up in the fields of night 

And wove its branches into a snare. 
The stars escaped in a high, swift flight— 

But the moon hung prisoned there! 


12 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


AFTER THE STORM 


(A Lilt for a Child ) 


T HE fountains of heaven have poured 
down their rain 

And purged lawn and roadway of rubbish and 
stain! 

The sunbeams go searching the woods and the 
green, 

But even the toads and the earth-worms are clean! 
The little white clouds lifted high, lifted high, 

Are Mother World's petticoats hung up to dry! 


13 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


SNOW FANTASY 


T HE wraiths of buds that formed to fade: 

Viburnum’s and hydrangea’s ghosts, 
Spiraea’s fantom, lily’s shade, 

Lilac’s and dogwood’s spectral hosts, 

Return to barren lawns and walks:— 

Their bloom across the garden storms! 

And now the wistful boughs and stalks 
Are clustered with their lovely forms! 


14 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


SNOW TRAILS 


N OW I know what lay concealed 

Under summer’s blossomy shield! 
Now I tell what furtive things 
Night was folding in her wings! 

Creatures near, yet shy and foreign, 

I may trace to tree and warren! 

Life that hid from man and hound 
Here impalpably is bound! 

Now I see how many a brood 
Houses in my solitude! 

Here I watch the changeless law 
Whost testaments are fang and claw: 

Yea, how timid brutes repeat 
The tragedy of drink and meat— 

Beasts that forage for their young 

While on their trail lean death gives tongue! 


15 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


MELTING BROOK 


W ILD things that stole at dawn to drink 
Saw nothing save the stream’s white 


chain, 

And heard along the fettered brink 
No note of urgency or strain. 


Content it seemed to be a glass 
Unmelted by the flame of spring— 
Unthrilled if in its mirror pass 
The splendor of a bluebird’s wing. 


But now dusk-shielded beasts shall creep 
Where liberation roars and swells, 

And lap where rebel torrents heap 
Their sundered silver manacles. 


16 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


MINSTREL WIND 

W HERE the pines and hemlocks grow 

Minstrel Wind brought out his bow 
And made each trembling bough a string 
For lilts and madrigals of spring! 

He blent into his soughing strain 
The patter and drip of April rain! 

He told how a rivulet would slip 
Away from stubborn winter’s grip! 

How he would give dead leaves a whirl 
And find the arbutus’ pink and pearl! 

He prophesied the lyric gush 
Of wren and cardinal and thrush! 

He mocked a bee swarm buzzing forth, 

The clang of wild geese wedging north, 

The croak of toads on a lily-pond’s edge, 

A humming-bird awhir in the hedge! 

17 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


He sang a song of farmers sowing, 

Of green grass growing! O, green grass growing 
And I, who listened in mist and mud, 

Tripped along with my heart in bud. 


18 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


LOVE OF TREES 


S ELL—and wander on! The long dispute is 
ended: 

We will break new ground—yet how may I go 
faring 

When April brings the bloom to the slim young 
trees I tended, 

That I in dreams these winters through saw 
blossoming and bearing? 


19 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


WINTER HAZE 


W EAVE, wintertide, your purple fantasy! 

Does autumn wither? Lend her bier 
a cloak! 

All things that blazed in her swift pageantry 
Give now the consummation of your smoke! 
Curtain the conflagration of the oak; 

Veil sumac’s torch: above death’s scenery 
Spread azure magic, that we may evoke 
An April world from gray reality! 


With blue bewitchments, O enchant our eyes! 
Show violet’s and harebell’s windy hosts, 

And royal iris, by blue pools upspringing! 
And where bare branches song-forsaken rise 
Bring back shy birds to flit like sapphire ghosts, 
Till hyacinthine April wakes their singing. 
20 


CARIBBEAN COASTS 
AND OTHER SEA POEMS 






























4 





























































A HARP IN THE WINDS 


SEA MIST 


T HE sea assumes her most mysterious 
dress, 

And vainly homing ships her films explore 
For castled ports upon familiar shore, 

Lost now, Atlantis-like, beyond all guess. 

Hearken the eerier bugles of distress 
That wail across a wilderness of hoar 
Where mighty squadrons have become no more 
Than fantoms on a tide of nothingness. 


It is as if the unconquerable sea, 

Weary of ships, and weary of man’s boast 
That he had tamed her tide and chained her 
coast 

And bound her tempests to his sovereignty. 

Bade Mist, her frailest servitor, efface 
The ramparts and armadas of his race. 

23 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


TO A SEA-GULL 


B EGONE, bright ocean hoverer, 

Who lured the first Phoenician oar 
And showed the Norse discoverer 
The shrouded Iceland shore! 


Where now do virgin forests spring? 

Where now may Darien be found, 
That thus your keen impetuous wing 
Allures me from accustomed ground? 


Where now are mariners’ rewards? 

Where now do Montezumean spires 
Lift to proclaim the yellow hoards 
That sate a conqueror’s desires ? 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


In what lost, unimagined clime 

Lie coasts unchristened and unclaimed? 
I am as one born out of time— 

For all the world is tamed! 


25 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE CAPTIVE OF IGOR 

I T drifts from lip to lip in the wilds of Russia— 
A folk-lore straw on the winds of years— 
That once Prince Igor, the well-beloved, 

Sailed forth to plunder Persia. 

The loot he seized— 

The damasked shawls and jeweled headbands, 
The jade and pearls and rubies, 

He gave to his men. 

Nothing he kept but the Rose of Persia— 
Nothing he gloated on 
Save his captive princess. 

But Igor’s men gazed too 
On the frightened maid . . . 

Then Igor read the thirst in their eyes! 

26 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Then Igor ran and lifted his treasure, 

The little maid. 

The snared bird beating against his heart! 

Out from the prow of the ship he flung her— 
Out to the hungry, sucking waters! 

Over the snarl of his pack he thundered: 

“See, Mother Volga, 

Thus I yield you 

The princess who severs the friendship of men!” 


27 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


A CARIBBEAN COURTSHIP 


B EYOND the steamer fades San Juan 

And Porto Rico's gray-green highland 
Where buccaneers have reigned and gone 
The freight ship seeks St. Thomas island. 

A gawky craft on glamorous seas— 

Her treasures homely crates and cases! 

Yet glorious in the midst of these 

The skipper’s daughter flaunts her graces! 
Too young is she to know love’s fires 
Yet in her eyes the dawn is leaping! 

And Joe, the Spanish mate, desires 
To have her mad heart in his keeping! 


The silent captain takes the wheel; 

The sunset floods the sea with roses; 
The amber twilight turns to steel; 
About the ship the darkness closes; 


2 8 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


The phosphorescence wakes and trails 
Across the deep its ghostly finger— 
Beyond the singing forward sails 

The mate and maid, romancing, linger! 
The skipper scans the stars outspread, 
And watches cloud and wind and water, 
And probes the dusky leagues ahead— 
Yet ever his eye is on his daughter! 


29 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


A SAN JUAN IMPRESSION 


T HE Stars and Stripes droop— 
Homesick for an English word! 
The ghost of the banner of Spain 
Gloats beside our flag! 


Spain’s invisible sceptre 
Rules these shores! 

Her speech runs from lip to lip in the street, 
And dwells proudly on the tongue of the Don! 
The diva drops soft Spanish airs into the hearts of 
the throng! 

How alien we seem! 


Guns or gold can win a land, 

But what can conquer its tongue? 


30 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE SCOURGED 

(Song of the Port of St. Thomas ) 

H ERE in my palace a sorcerer builded— 
Draining the rainbow for colors to 
paint it— 

Bathing his bricks in the gold of the sunshine— 
I dream of lovers who came and departed! 


I was the Rahab who sheltered the Spaniard! 
I was the Circe who called to the English! 

I was the warm dark mate of the Norseman— 
Luring alike the Malay and Frenchman! 


God sent his prophets 
To warn and to scourge me! 

God raised His cross where my lovers built 
bowers! 


3i 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


God spoke in cyclones and fire and rebellion! 

Yet through them all I have clung to my 
crimson— 

Sackcloth and ashes are not for the tropics! 

Here I sit masking my age and awaiting 
The arms of the future! 

Once—how the sails flocked like doves to my 
beaches! 

When will my new love answer my singing? 
When will his keel break the blue of my harbor? 


32 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


ST. CROIX SKETCHES 
I. Moonlight * 

The night wind is ridden by witches! 

The moonbeams are arrows of sickness! 

Old man, stay inside! 

Old woman, bar your windows 

And shut every chink against the moon! 

Black girl, 

Witches are out, 

And the moon is a plague! 

Why does the closed door fret you ? 

Softly now—lest they waken! 

Unbar the door lightly! 

Dart across the silver road 

And leap past the palm trees! 

* Old people among the natives of St. Croix have a 
superstition that plagues are brought by moonlight and 
night breezes. 


33 




A HARP IN THE WINDS 


There is a call from the woods 
Stronger than the warnings of your elders 
There is a place among the mangroves 
Where the wind cannot find you 
Nor the moonlight touch you! 

Scold, old woman! 

When you were young 

Did the moon or the night-wind 

Hold you back from your lover? 


34 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


ST. CROIX SKETCHES 

II. Sugar 

I could make a song concerning the peace of St. 
Croix— 

I could sing of an island drenched in the sun’s 
gold and lapped by blue waters! 

I could picture lordly palms and emerald hills and 
white beaches under soothing turquoise skies! 

I could pretend that the fire of the hibiscus is the 
only flame that runs across the sugar estates! 

I could sing that the sun pours an opiate into the 
hearts of the natives! 

I could tell how in the silver twilight there is 
music and mating! 

But I cannot make a song concerning the peace 
of St. Croix— 

Because peace does not live among the men in the 
canefields! 


35 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Because I see Marines and machine guns! 
Because I know the thought of the cane-cutter: 

“Fire is the black man’s friend! 

Fire is as strong as an army! 

One match can burn a centraleV’ 

And because peace does not dwell in the heart of 
the planter’s wife 

As she looks on her three young daughters asleep 
like lilies in the moonlight! 


36 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


ST. CROIX SKETCHES 
III. The Melted 

In Christiansted 
I met an old woman, 

Homesick for Denmark. 

She had sailed from Copenhagen 
To her son Axel, 

Who had gone forth years ago 

To seek his fortune on the Spanish Main, 

And had found it in the canefields. 

She had meant to surprise him. 

But instead, he surprised her— 

With his native wife! 

And his dark children! 


3 7 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


ST. CROIX SKETCHES 
IV. Harbor Attack 

Our boat crawled into the harbor at midnight, 
Too late for us to land. 

I sprawled myself on deck, 

Sniffing the shore’s strange smells, 

Eager for the sights of morning. 

Bare feet pattered about the deck; 

The sails swished and dropped; 

The lanterns of the sky 
Swung down to our bare masts; 

A hush came. 

Suddenly the deck swarmed with ghosts, 

And a voice, hoarse and human, 

Clamored for the skipper. 

I thought of Blackbeard and Bluebeard; 

38 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Of how they and their ribald crews 
Had once leaped out from these islands 
To ravish merchantmen. 

Had the buccaneers returned? 

The cries became clear: 

“Any mail for the United States ship Vixen?” 
American sailors! 

Avid for letters from home! 


39 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


SHIPBOARD POEMS 
I. Radio Message 

PON the floor the sprinkled meal 



Invites the dancers’ trot and reel, 
While deck-lights—yellow, crimson, green— 
Shut out the round moon’s golden sheen. 
The steward grinds the phonograph; 

The couples bump—the wall-flowers laugh. 
Then, where the revelers twine and whirl, 

A tall man turns from a wondering girl 
And trembles—is it fear or hope— 

Before a radio envelope! 

The sea’s a hundred leagues around, 

But searching Fate her goal has found! 


40 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


SHIPBOARD POEMS 
II. San Salvador * 

We, a thousand miles from home— 

Our swift keel churning the blue to foam— 
With eyes that hunger for the shore 
Sight gray-green San Salvador, 

Sprawling on the cobalt deep 
Like leviathan asleep! 

Have we tired of lovely seas, 

Who sail known tides in guarded ease? 

If the sudden island stirs 
Today’s luxurious voyagers, 

Columbus, then how deep your thrill 
To see this ocean-girdled hill! 

* First land seen by Columbus, 1492. 


41 




A HARP IN THE WINDS 


SHIPBOARD POEMS 
III. Off Hatteras 

“Off Hatteras—fog,” the logbook read. 
Never a word the skipper said 
Of how our ship, a night and day, 

Crept up a ceremented way; 

Of how as we went groping, peering, 
Calling, listening, sounding, fearing, 
There came from that wet wall, close by, 
A long, shrill, terrifying cry; 

Of how our whistle blew its breath 
In the mysterious face of death, 

Who went by, masked in his gray cloud, 
And left us living in our shroud! 


42 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE SUNKEN CITY 


(Port Royal, Jamaica) 


T HE hot shore sleeps; the moon-blanched 
sea 

Is tranquil at this midnight time. 

A sentry walks in mystery, 

Hearing a temple’s pleading chime 
Yet wondering what Carib fane 
Sends forth this melancholy strain. 


And are they fantoms of moonfire— 

Those pale, vague ships before him drifting, 
As if the port of their desire 

Lies where the mournful notes are lifting? 

Ah sentry, let the dead past tell 
The mystery of bark and bell! 

43 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Let the hushed century disclose 
How here a city built of treasure 
From pillaged galleons arose 
Where corsairs came their spoils to measure 
And bid their brown Delilahs hear 
A tale to shock a demon’s ear! 

Pirates who yet, from crimsoned gold 
Made offerings to Christ and Mary 
That—when their deviltries were old— 

The sweet bell of a sanctuary 
Might tell of a celestial port 
For shriven rascals of their sort. 

Who dared, beneath the temple’s notes, 

To wreathe dark women with white pearls 
Torn from the alabaster throats 
Of piteous, pleading, broken girls 
44 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Whose prayers they cursed, though Lord God 
heard, 

Speaking at last his awful word. 

Let the hushed century unfold 
How ocean cooled the burning lips, 

And washed the crimson from the gold, 

And plundered all the plundering ships, 
Transforming palaces and taverns 
To deep, clean, ferny caverns, 

Where she who twined a young corsair 
With jeweled arms, entwines him still, 

And shields him with her weedy hair 
From sharks that long since had their fill, 

While over them the sad bell tolls 
Its supplication for their souls. 


45 















































LYRICS 




A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE WINDBELL 

Y OUR hands have hung a windbell where 
The thirsting windows drink the air, 

And when the curtains blow and crinkle, 

I hear its tinkle, tinkle, tinkle! 

Mine is a soul that dwells content 
Within the clamorous Occident, 

But when, by wandering breezes blown, 

The windbell wafts its Orient tone, 

Its song is as a bark which plies 
Between blue seas and lilac skies; 

And by this ship of sound I drift 
To islands where chrysanthemums lift 
In ranks of gold and purple plumes 
To shelter silken, scented rooms 
Whose crimson lamps at dusk shall dance 
To light the traveler to romance. 


49 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


But ah, it would not be Cathay 
With you, my heart’s red rose, away! 
So into this enchanted court 
Your lovely presence I transport! 
And sweeter than the samisen, 

Or tunes that geishas sing to men, 
Or windbell’s rune, or temple’s gong, 
Or nightingale’s delirious song, 

Are these our murmurs which attest 
A love that knows not East or West! 


50 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


JUB AL 


Characters of the poem: 

Jabal: the father of such as dwell in tents, and of such 
as have cattle. 

Tubal-cain: an instructor of every artificer in brass and 
iron. 

Jubal: the father of all such as handle the harp and 
organ. —Genesis 4120-22. 


S POKE the Voice of Creation: 

“Jabal shall keep the herds! 
He shall be lord of the reaping 
And warden of beasts and birds! 


“Tubal shall mine the metals 
Undergirding the grass! 

He shall upbuild My temples 
And bring the cities to pass! 


“Jabal shall rule the meadows; 

Tubal shall plant the town! 

Yet I foresee them toiling 

With body and soul weighed down! 


5i 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


“Sick of the country’s silence ! 

Tired of traffic and throng! 

So, for their strength and solace, 
Jubal shall lift his song!” 

Forth went Jubal, the minstrel, 
Making his timbrel’s tune 
Like to a well in the desert; 

Like to a tree at noon! 

Building out of the Babel; 

Over its woe and care, 

Up to the calm of heaven, 

Tone’s ethereal stair! 

Forth went Jubal, the dreamer. 
Soothing the pain of Saul! 
Sounding a march for Caesar! 
Pealing the chimes of Gaul! 


52 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Hark! Whose heartening music 
Stills our turbulent street? 
Who goes over the pastures 
To sing to the thresh of wheat? 

Who but wandering Jubal, 

Come to us out of the old! 
Lifting our spirits, shackled 
By herds and houses and gold! 


53 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


SONG FOR THE SENSES 


S OULS by loveliness are fed, 

And the stars become their bread 
Hearts are nurtured and updrawn 
By the sunset and the dawn, 

By a birch above a brook, 

By a comradeship or book! 

And the spirit leaps its closes, 
Comprehending moons and roses, 
Through the senses, which take toll 
Of all beauty for the soul! 


So, though never a bard essays 
Ode or sonnet in their praise, 

I this lyric praise shall bring 
These who set my songs awing; 


54 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


These who make my pulses one 
With the bough and bird and sun! 
Yea, though hermits build defences! 
Yea, though friars flog the senses, 

I shall hold them priests and be 
Minstrel to their ministry! 


55 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


AN ARTIST COMES TO A 
CITY 

T HE temple of beauty is shut, and cold its 
altar lies. 

The mart roars on, like surf on a desolate shore! 
A youth has come; with brave, enkindled eyes 
He lifts his torch to the dark, unyielding door. 

A youth awaits; but the kindly priests have gone— 
The fretting crowd sweeps by the moldering 
fane; 

And he who lit his torch in the fire of dawn 
Bears into the dusk his star, nor comes again! 


56 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


HOMECOMING 


W HEN I have walked through wastes of 
night— 

Through deeps unkindled by a star— 

And turned at last where amber light 
Leaps past your window bar; 


My heart, by this beclouded sphere, 

And by these blinded heavens, learns 
How staunchly, how past reckoning dear 
Love's constellation burns! 


57 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 
LOVE’S LEGEND 

>VE writes no ending to his fragrant book! 



What tho the page shuts on Francesco’s 


bliss ? 

Or on the flame that was Semiramis ? 

On Guinevere, who all for love forsook? 

On Highland Mary, trysting by her brook? 

On Dante’s yearning? Or on Juliet’s kiss? 
Romance inscribes such glowing tales as this 
In lives today, wherever one may look! 

Love writes no ending! Dear, your heart and 
mine 

Blend in a scroll which for a time too brief 
Trembles and burns beneath the legend’s 
glory! 

Obscure, we yet descend from Helen’s line, 

And all who greatly loved live in our leaf, 
Rekindling their sweet ardors in our story! 


58 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


TENEMENT CHILDREN 

E AGLETS have no bounds or bars 
Save the cordon of the stars; 


Only searching beagles know 
Where the little foxes go; 

Little fish have leave to glide 
With the world-engirdling tide; 

Man bids lovely childhood bloom 
In this pestilential gloom! 


59 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE MAN IN ME 

D IMLY my surface self has known 

That it is but the frame and mask 
For one who on an inner throne 
Compels my body to his task; 

For one who takes for lordly dress 
The trappings of my consciousness, 

And—all impalpable—has bent 
My spirit to his government! 


Forever I have sought to touch 
This monarch castled from my clutch; 
This sovereign who derives his power 
From kings within a deeper tower: 

I probe the dungeons of my moods 
But ever, ever he eludes 


60 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Retreating through some misty gate 
My strength may never penetrate— 
The master mocks his questioning tool! 
The emperor will not greet his fool! 

In some unfathomable hall— 

A wraith within this fleshly wall— 

He holds dominion; takes control 
Of my insurgent thew and soul, 
Thwarting my day-planned, rebel leap 
By judgments in the courts of sleep, 
Mighty to mold me to his scheme 
By the frail sceptre of a dream! 


61 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


PRAYER FOR THE RIGHT 
VOCATION 


L ORD GOD, give him who loves the sea 
j A ship's uncertain destiny! 

Give town men, who for fields entreat, 

The benediction of the wheat! 

Give merchant souls the haggling throng! 
Grant to the poet, kept from song 

By the loud commerce of bazaars 
A lone path under sun and stars 

To where a whispering forest stream 
Shall summon from his heart its dream! 


6 2 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


SPRINGTIME ALONG THE 
PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD 


S PRING reveled in Virginia, 

And then, with lavish hand, 
Threw hyacinths and lilies 
To eager Maryland. 

In Delaware she lingered, 

Then, buttoning her kersey, 

How timidly, how timidly, 

She tiptoed through New Jersey! 


63 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


KEATS 


How astonishingly does the chance of leaving the 
world impress a sense of its natural beauties upon 
us !— John Keats. 


W HEN he drew near to the door of death, 
How green the grass grew by his 

road! 

How sweet the honeysuckle’s breath! 

How fair the brooks of Hampstead flowed! 
When he went out from life’s brief way, 

How liberal was earth’s caress— 

As if she lavished to repay 

What he had wrought of loveliness! 


64 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


FRIENDSHIP 


N O foe could strike this blow— 

Could draw this blood, this tear! 
By the deep wound I know 
A friend was here. 


65 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


PROMETHEUS IN JERSEY 



HE early winter dusk comes down 


1 With chilling rain and whimpering 

gust, 

And this that was a friendly town 
Is changed to shadows and distrust. 

What, though, behind the pines and oaks 

Wait hearts and hearths that conquer gloom? 

The trees within their misty cloaks 
Seem graybeards prophesying doom! 

Yet suddenly a yellow light 

Goes dancing through the drip and haze 

As if a star had left its height 

To free these night-beleaguered ways! 

And see how many a golden lamp 
From windows lost in dusk and dream 


66 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Sends forth across the murk and damp 
Its answer to the rallying gleam! 

Say not: “Prometheus is bound!” 

But ask this youth of Tuscan name 
Who bears his torch upon its round 
From what far sun he stole his flame! 
For though no god in him you mark 
He is of Titan blood no less 
Who hurls against the hostile dark 
A thousand spears of friendliness! 


67 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE LILIES OF THE FIELD 


W HEN I went up to Nazareth— 
A pilgrim of the spring— 
When I went up to Nazareth 
The earth was blossoming! 

I saw the blue flower of the flax 
Beside a shepherd’s fold! 

Along the hillsides’ stony tracks 
I found the marigold! 

The iris raised a shimmering spire 
Of beauty at my feet! 

The poppy was a cup of fire 
Among the cooling wheat! 


When I went up to Nazareth 
I marked how time came down 
With blighting dust and withering breath 
Upon the hallowed town! 


68 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


The years that buried Babylon 
Were drifting to efface 
The steps of Mary’s Heavenly Son, 
His dwelling and his race! 

But still I read his permanence 
By signs that never dim; 

With all their ancient eloquence 
The lilies spoke of Him! 


69 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE WHITE EGRET 


W HEN I pierced the marshland, bronzed 
reeds blew asunder. 

There I saw a green grove; there I paused in 
wonder 

Where a snowy egret ethereally stood 
Like a seraph-sentinel before a sacred wood! 


What though I had come with awe and reverence 
and rapture? 

What though but in soul I sought its loveliness to 
capture ? 

Still it trembled; still it soared as if it saw arise 

Esau of the red hands stalking yet through Para¬ 
dise! 


70 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


DALLIANCE 


H E will fare beyond the sun 

When his earthliness is done! 
He will dwell upon the rim 
Of singing, flame-winged seraphim! 

He will have no punishment 
Except his scourging discontent 
That to Lord God he must lift up 
A self-wrought, shallow, stinted cup— 
Because in this embattled world 
He kept his noblest banner furled! 
Because, with one last fort to seize 
He loitered in the House of Ease! 


7i 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE YOUNG MEN TO THE 

OLD 


W E will harken to the old 

While they hold the forward vision 
While their councillors unfold 
Splendid aim and grand decision! 

But when years and faith divorce 
We will blaze our own high course! 


We will hold in awe the past, 

But it shall not be our halter! 
Where the future’s gage is cast 
We will meet the dare, nor falter! 
Age, if you would lead us, then— 
Climb with us to Darien! 


72 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


A TEST FOR POETS 


A BOOK is not the sole sign of Song's 
flower. 

Nor fame the touchstone of the poet's art: 
Judge bards, renowned or nameless, by their 
power 

To leave a measure singing in your heart! 

The lowliest minstrel wins his bay if he 
Can chum with Shakespeare in your memory! 


73 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE ALIEN 


A 


LIEN, speak! 

^ What do you seek— 


Reign of law or revolution? 

Torch and knife, 

Lust and strife— 

Are these your plan of evolution? 

Are you “scum”? 

Do you come 

Curses at our ideals flinging? 

Tell what lies 

In your smoldering eyes; 

Alien, what are you bringing? 

Nay, I mask 
No devil’s task! 

Ask your Pilgrim blood what drew me! 
Ask your sire 


74 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


How freedom's fire 

Flamed for him—and beckoned to me! 

Chained in tongue? 

Custom strung? 

Prey to wild-mouthed agitation? 

Then give schools 
And hopes and tools 
For my emancipation! 

Russ, Swede, Pole? 

Nay, a soul! 

Will you succor or forsake me? 

Clay am I 
Beneath your sky— 

Come, what will you make me? 


75 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


GENERATIONS 


T HE warrior died that war might pass: 

His child—in the unthinking mass 
That cheers the haggard troops’ returning, 
Watches with spirit thrilled and burning, 
Reading within the bayonets’ dance 
The world-old falsehood of romance: 

Thus war perpetuates its power 

And drops quick seed from its spent flower! 


76 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE SCULPTOR 


(A chaplain speaks ) 


D AVID lies here—who turned our thoughts 
away 

From death by molding harlequins from clay! 
David—whose slim, white fingers used to wrench 
A seraph from the foul slime of the trench! 
David—whose quick, creative soul could plan 
A sepulchre to house Justinian! 

We buried his great gift in this mud pall— 

His shaft: a rude slab from a shattered wall! 


God help us strive that into war’s abyss 

No more shall nations pour such blood as this! 

And yet—he said that he would rather be 

An atom in the shaft of liberty 

Than hailed a Michael Angelo tomorrow. . . . 

Perhaps we wrong such souls by too much sorrow! 

77 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


A SOLDIER LISTENS TO 
THE NIGHT WIND 

A BOVE him clouds like bright Valkyries 
j \ soar. 

Beneath his window what were priestly trees 
Are changed to bannered, battling companies 
That droop and rally on a moon-blanched floor. 
The gulf of night is torn by wail and roar, 

And earth is as a battle-harp whose keys 
Yield to fierce scalds those harsh, sweet melo¬ 
dies 

That lead men forth whence they return no more. 

The Bersek wind has these wild bugles blown! 
No ghost with moonbeams glinting on his mail 
Rides back with tidings of the warriors’ trail! 
No trumpeter wakes now the martial tone! 

And yet he quivers with his shaken wall 
Hearing his comrades, trenchward marching, 
call! 


78 


MANHATTAN PORTRAITS 







1 









A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE BUSINESS CHANGES 
HANDS 



HE business changes hands; accountants 


come 


To scrutinize the books and search the files. 
Disturbing rumors through the office hum; 
Mysterious, keen-eyed men stroll down the 


aisles. 


Department heads, whose places are in doubt, 
Pursue their duties with unworried faces. 

As if to say that if they are let out 

They know where they can go to better places. 

But Billingslea, a plodding under-clerk, 

Wonders if he is slated for discharge, 

And pales before the spectre Out of Work, 

And tries to make his occupation large. 


81 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Night falls; desks close; his comrades homeward 
fare; 

He stays and toils in bribery to fate, 

Hoping approving glances come from where 
His god writes down: “Your pay will ter¬ 
minate—” 


82 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


LACKAWANNA FERRY 

J ENKINS is used to spending his days 

With bills and drafts and an adding ma¬ 
chine ; 

Used to humdrum office ways 
And traffic’s dull routine. 

Jenkins is faithful to his work— 

Plodding along with Jack and Jerry: 

Yet, what awakes in the dried old clerk 
As his home road leads to the ferry? 

See him over the ferry’s rail 

Drinking the glamour of tides and shores; 
Noting each far, faint, homing sail; 

Heeding the chants of the stevedores; 
Measuring liners at their slips; 

Feeling the engine’s throb and quiver; 
Watching the immigrant-laden ships 
And Liberty, guarding the river! 


83 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Clearly he sees the ports they seek, 

Steamers and schooners fading away— 

Sydney, Shanghai, Mozambique, 

Malta, Lisbon or Bombay! 

Ports enchanted! Yet at home 
Scenes as fair is he espying: 

Look! Where currents tumble and foam 
He sees the great fleet lying! 

Jenkins is one with destiny— 

Crumpled notes and canceled checks! 

Jenkins has tamed his love for the sea, 

For wind-beat, wave-washed decks! 

Yet come times when he sheds the dull; 
When his ferry road to Rangoon reaches! 

When his spirit soars like a swift-winged gull 
To skim the uttermost beaches! 


84 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE COMMUTER 


T HE milkman’s clink; 

The shuffling shoes 
Of him who brings 
The morning news; 

A robin’s twitter 
From the lawn; 

The baby prattling 
To the dawn; 

A neighbor’s bantam 
Fiercely crowing; 

The first commuter 
Trainward going; 

The splash of bath 
And shaving’s clatter; 

The welcome stir 

Of wheat-cake batter; 


85 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Then, blending with 
Our noisy mood, 

The hoarse fog-horn 
Of Maplewood; 

A dash down-stairs, 

A breakfast flurry; 

The 8:12 tooting: 

“Hurry! Hurry!” . . . 
Such sharps and flats 
Bring in the day 
For those who live 
Out Orange way! 


86 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


JESSICA 


I N a Subway car I saw 
Star-eyed, dusky Jessica. 

She who with Lorenzo mated 
I beheld, reincarnated— 

Riding homeward with her beau 
From a Broadway movie show! 

Long ago, when Shylock sought her— 
(“O my ducats! O my daughter!”) 
She could vanish with her lover 
In some friendly forest cover 
Where a rapturous nightingale 
Lilted to Lorenzo’s tale. 


Now a tungsten lamp she’s under, 
Guardsmen bawl, and coaches thunder, 
And prosaic people stare 
As her sweetheart breathes his prayer! 


87 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Heigh-ho! Something chokes the light! 
In the sudden, welcome night 
Heads and lips are close together . . . 
Need a person wonder whether, 

In old moonlit gardens, she 
Found a fuller ecstasy? 

Or if then Lorenzo’s kiss 
Was a sweeter one than this? 


88 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


LOVE IN A CROWD 

T HE eyes of men upon them beat 
As in a jostling throng they meet. 
Yet though the circumstance is such 
That only by their gaze they touch, 

They still may build within a glance 
A sanctuary for romance! 

Their looks such sweet enchantments fling 
That, sundered thus, they kiss and cling! 


89 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


SUNSET THROUGH AN 
OFFICE WINDOW 

T HE homing sun sends warning shafts 
To bid men lay aside their crafts 
And follow where he gilds a way 
Beyond their world a workaday. 

Yet still they toil; so he, in pity 
For folk so cumbered by the city, 

Pours splendour through the murky glass 
And brings a miracle to pass. 

The dimming rooms are drenched with gold; 
The typist’s hair is aureoled; 

The clerk who drones the day’s accounts 
Thumbs golden columns and amounts; 

The ledgers all with fire are tipped; 

The toiler in his dusty crypt 


90 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Intent on traffic’s dull epistles 

Beholds them changed to burnished missals 

Such as, in medieval cell, 

A patient monk illumined well. 

Yet who in all this room’s expanse 
Spins dreams from this irradiance, 

Or ponders what celestial dress 
Has fallen on his weariness? 


9i 







> 


s 




A 



MIRTH 



A HARP IN THE WINDS 


MANHATTAN LIONS 

(Addressed to the stone lions at the entrance to the 
New York Public Library) 


R OUSE beasts and roar your lettered 
ancestry! 

Wake, jungle lords, from your majestic trance 
And show to skeptics your significance! 

Dante in Hades did a lion see, 

And Judah’s lion lives through history, 

Fair Una tamed a lion by her glance, 
Androcles’ beast stalks ever through romance— 
Do you exalt that splendid company? 


Or do you stand for souls we lionize— 


Those who with poem, credo, book, or drama 

95 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Pass in applauded, dazzling panorama 
To be forgotten by the next sunrise— 

Whose fame and works, on many an unthumbed 
card, 

In many an unread book, you nobly guard? 


9 6 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


MEDITATION ON DANTE 


B EATRICE, forever young, 

Dwells song-crowned in Dante's heaven. 
Donna Gemma is unsung— 

Though she bore the poet seven! 


97 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


ON CERTAIN CRITICS IN 
THE POETRY SOCIETY 


H UNTER and huntress, here they sit 
With spears of satire, shafts of wit, 
And barbs of learning, to impale 
A sparrow or a nightingale. 

What if some fledging songster’s trust 
Is shattered by their scintillant thrust? 

What though the seasoned warblers, wary, 
Shun this song-hallowed sanctuary? 

These care not—gloating on the birds 
That flutter in their snare of words! 


98 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE PRESS CLIPPING GIRL 



OOK, Jess—I like this poet’s face! 


I found it in a book review. 


He’s on my list for clippings, but 
His notices are few. 

You can’t get editors to give 
As much attention to a rhymer 

As they allot to Tarkington, 

Or Hughes, or Hergesheimer! 

See—here’s a thing a column long! 

Smith wrote it: he’s a good reviewer! 

Just listen: “In these sordid times 
Our major poets have grown fewer; 

Yet this bard’s singing raises him 

To Helicon’s muse-shelt’ring height!” 

I’ve never heard of Helicon— 

And yet it sounds all right! 


99 



A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Hey, Bobby! Get an envelope 
And send this clipping on its way! 
(I hope it makes up for the roast 
I had to send him yesterday!) 


ioo 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


ADDRESS, SOTTO VOCE, TO 
A FUR-CLOAKED WOMAN 

I SEE you undulate in fur! 

Felinity blent with the human 
You glide beside your worshipper 
A lovely panther—yet a woman! 

What though an eon wrought your grace ? 

I yet shall call it culture’s bungle 
That you, perfection of the race. 

Go swaddled in the jungle! 


IOI 


















AMERICAN TRAILS 



A HARP IN THE WINDS 


PRELUDE 


M IDIANITE, Midianite, 
What have you to sell? 
‘Tigs and spice and Joseph's son, 
Found in a well!” 


Tyrian, Tyrian, 

Whither turns your keel? 

“I have indigo and gems 

To trade for brass and meal!” 

Roman, Roman, 

Why your far-flung legions ? 

“Caesar covets purple silks 

Wrought beyond his regions!” 

Cabot, Cortez, 

Why this western way? 

“We would be the first to sift 
The treasures of Cathay!” 


105 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


American, the world is tracked— 
Shall the quest be staid? 
“Know you not that Wisdom rides 
On the wheels of Trade?” 


106 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


LEIF ERICSON OPENS THE 
PATH TO AMERICA 

(A.D. 1000) 


PIRIT of Columbus, tell: 

Ere the western way you took 
In your tossing caravel 

Found you not an Iceland book? 
Was not there the record traced 
Of a Hesperidian shore? 

Was not your high courage based 
On the Norse who went before? 
Were not your green laurels won 
In the wake of Eric son? 


Hark, the tribal warnings run: 

“Sail not westward, Ericson! 

There the storm lord’s hissing wrath 
Leaps to bar the Viking’s path! 

107 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Southward turn; King Olaf’s sail 
Cleaves for you a treasure trail! 
Southward seek for crowns and pearls 
And Normandy’s rebellious girls! 

See, the west mist drinks the sun! 
Yonder lies:—oblivion!” 

Still upon the Greenland shore 
Voices summon to explore. 

While the old men hug their fires, 
Stormward Ericson aspires. 

Mocking, dauntless, forth Leif sails 
Where the sun’s last ember pales. 
Lashed by many a tempest-whip 
Triumphs his frail serpent-ship! 
Empire’s first faint western star 
Dips to kiss his quivering spar 


108 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 

Who, lost, bewildered, ventures on 
Till from gray seas blue hills dawn! 

Now lips tantalized by brine 
Drink the juices of the vine! 

On fair slopes, with ebon lustre, 

Hangs the wild grape’s luscious cluster! 
Here comes slowly winter’s blight! 

Here is equal day and night! 

“Vinland!” * cried the Men of Ships, 
Fading into time’s eclipse; 

“Vinland !” was Leif’s christening— 
Were the ages listening? 

Who now quickens to the fire 
Of that ancient Iceland lyre 
That gloried in a world hard won 
By lion-souled Leif Ericson? 

♦Cape Cod. 


109 



A HARP IN THE WINDS 


PILGRIM MOTHERS 
(1620) 

{The first baptismal names entered in the records 
of the church founded by the Pilgrims at Boston 
were those that appear in these verses.) 

P ILGRIM mothers—when your ship 

Clove the wilderness of the West! 

When the sea-wind’s icy grip 

Chilled the dream within your breast! 

What of peril? What of woe? 

What of pain and pestilence 

Made you name your children so— 

“Pity,” “Joy,” and “Recompense”? 


When your unaccustomed hands 

Helped to break the stubborn ground, 
When your titles to the lands 
Were a headstone and a mound; 
no 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Whence your calm, submissive mood, 
’Midst the new world’s turbulence, 
That you named your infant brood— 
“Pity,” “Joy,” and “Recompense”? 

Pilgrim mothers—still the years 
Hang their misty goals in space! 
We in turn are pioneers 
To an onward-surging race! 

You who by the barren rock 
Built the spirit’s excellence, 

Make us worthy of your flock— 
“Pity,” “Joy,” and “Recompense”! 


in 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


DANIEL BOONE 
(1760) 

OU dare not cross the Cumberlands!” the 



voices said to him. 


“You may not walk where bluegrass lifts beyond 
the mountain’s rim! 

No white man’s foot may follow the bear and 
buffalo— 

The red men guard the ranges!” But Boone re¬ 
plied : “I go!” 

“Ours are the teeming game-trails!” the Shawnee 
chiefs defied; 

“The spirits of our fathers rule the plains whereon 
they died! 

We know the way of white men—where their 
explorers pass 

Tomorrow shall their hunters rise like legions of 
the grass! 


112 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


“You shall not track our forests! And where 
your roof is found 

Our tribes will make the fruitful place a dark and 
bloody ground!” 

Yet past the watching Wyandot, the vengeful 
Cherokee, 

A shadow through the wilderness, Boone marked 
our destiny! 

The faint trail through the mountains became an 
open road, 

With Boone to cleave the forests, and ease the 
settler’s load! 

With Boone to conquer famine, and turn the red 
hordes back! 

With Boone’s staunch buckskin rangers to shield 
the fort and shack! 

H3 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


The men who build the town forget the men who 
led the way! 

The glory of the first-to-go is as a vanished day! 

But yet an urge is in our blood, a will defying 
fear— 

The nation’s soul inherits still from Boone the 
pioneer! 


114 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE “HALF-MOON” AND 
THE “CLERMONT” 

(1807) 



HE ghost of Henry Hudson looks down 


from his Half-Moon 


At anchor in some phantom-port, some heaven- 
clasped lagoon; 

Looks down, a shadowy sentinel of that hill- 
guarded stream 

Which once had lured him on and on, yet baffled 
his vast dream; 

Looks down and marks upon the tides he searched 
but to forsake, 

How many bright-winged galleons had ventured 
in his wake; 

Looks down on teeming wharves and towns; on 
meadows where the plow 

Repeats upon the yellow loam the cleaving of his 


ii5 


prow; 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Yet sees upon the foaming tide what rouses him 
to wrath— 

A lumbering, puffing, blunted boat defiles the 
Half-Mo oris path 

And drives expectant fishermen from their accus¬ 
tomed ground 

Before the churning paddle-wheels, the steam- 
pipe’s horrid sound; 

Affrighted as the Indians were when, gazing out 
to sea, 

They first beheld the Half-Moon rise on wings 
of mystery! 

The ghost of Henry Hudson, the spirit of the 
past, 

Beholds the Future striking down the lovely sail 
and mast; 


116 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Beholds and deems adventure dead, and mourns 
the old romance, 

Nor sees beneath the clouding smoke an eager race 
advance! 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE STAGE COACH 
(1800) 

F ROM Baltimore to Wheeling a man may 
go by stage— 

An egg-shaped, swinging coach that makes a 
scrambling pilgrimage! 

A painted, circus-like affair that flames with red 
and yellow— 

Far grander than the enchanted coach that carried 
Cinderella! 

A coach that one with surety may trust himself 
upon— 

Does it not bear, in golden words, the name 
“George Washington” ? 

Fresh horses wait twelve miles apart along the 
road to Wheeling 

But what makes fresh the passenger, who journeys 
sore and reeling? 

118 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


O he who takes the western way through wilder¬ 
ness and tide, 

Must needs be stout of mind and soul, must needs 
be tough of hide 

For robbers wait, and redskins too, and wild beasts 
have a way 

Of stealing down the stage coach trail in quest of 
human prey! 

Yet off we dash, whatever chance, to thread a 
score of towns 

Where people wait us by the clock in homespun 
shirts and gowns; 

A pause to give these news-starved folk our East¬ 
ern yarns and tattle, 

A stop to eat and drink and stretch—then off 

119 


again we rattle. 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Gaunt Westover, who holds the reins, and dares 
his mates compete, 

Sits like a ramrod, six feet tall, upon the driver’s 
seat— 

A coachman noted far and wide for speed and 
recklessness, 

And now we’re up, and now we’re down, was ever 
such distress? 

But yet a cozy inn awaits, where each may fill 
his cavern 

With ham and chicken, washed with wine; while 
through the shaking tavern 

The slaves perform the hoe-down with shuffling 
sole and heel, 

And buxom maids are swift to leap to trip it in 
a reel! 


120 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE FIRST STEAMBOAT 
ON THE MISSISSIPPI 


(1811) 


S TEAM shall rule Ohio’s tides!” 
Nicholas Roosevelt * decides. 
Hark, its bargemen are astir:— 

‘‘Heed our warning, Easterner! 

Here the hidden snag and shoal 
Lurks to bar you from your goal! 
Hudson River gave a scope 
To achieve the Clermont's hope; 

Here Ohio’s sandbars shift; 

Here ten thousand dangers lift! 

Steam may rule the Eastern zone— 
Here—let well enough alone!” 


* Ancestor of Theodore Roosevelt. 


121 



A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Nicholas calls them “Noah's neighbors!" 
Nicholas pursues his labors! 

“To the very Gulf we glide," 

Sing his engines to the tide, 

“Where an inland stream may flow 
There a paddle-wheel may go ! 

Ships are shuttles, we will spin 
Till all cities are akin! 

Rise to hail a busier scene, 

Pittsburgh, Memphis, Muscatine! 

Every lake and every river 
Shall be blest by Steam, the Giver!" 

See the curious people standing 
At each Mississippi landing! 

See the daunted Indian flee 
From this whooping enemy! 


122 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


See each snag and sandbank rounded, 
And the flatboat men confounded! 
Hear the folk of Louisville 
Roused by whistles strange and shrill; 
That, however harsh they seem, 

Have a world call for their theme! 
Mark New Orleans wake to bless 
Nicholas Roosevelt’s success! 


123 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE COVERED WAGON 

(1849) 

Oh then, Susannah, 

Don't you cry for me! 

I'm going to Californiah 
With my wash-pan on my knee! 

^TT’S April, and the grass is up! Push out 
JL across the plain 

By Omaha to Laramie, till Oregon we gain!” 

The settlers shout; the wagons drift along the 
hazy trails 

Like ships that lift on emerald seas their bright 
ballooning sails. 

Before the patient oxen the keen outriders race, 

While lank lads prod the lagging herds to keep the 
wagons’ pace; 

Penned to the prairie-schooners’ sides the fluttered 
chickens cluck, 


124 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


While children, peeping out, rejoice to share in 
wanderers’ luck, 

But mothers, gaunt and weary, with infants at 
the breast, 

Pray God this be no fading dream of fortune and 
of rest! 

The bones of pioneers who trudged to see their 
rich hopes fail 

Shall gleam from desert and from peak to mark 
the unwon trail! 

The dark, rebellious tides that brawl where they 
must cross the Snake, 

Sing warning of the human toll unpitying currents 
take! 

The Blackfeet and the Shoshones, the Bannacks 
and the Crows 


125 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Have massed against this thin white line of stern, 
determined foes, 

Yet glamour gilds the far, faint path, and ruthless 
Indian bands, 

And all the venomed perils of these unconquered 
lands 

Shall unavailing rise between the wanderers and 
their goal, 

Because in the unfaltering train there moves a 
nation’s soul! 


126 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE PONY EXPRESS 

(i860) 

HE pony express! The pony express! 



Thundering hooves of the wilderness 


Linking the east to the farthermost 
Delver for gold on the nugget coast! 

Strength of steed and spirit of man, 

Twice a thousand miles shall you span! 
Valley of fire and mountain of snow, 
Neither shall daunt you—the mail must go! 
Couriers, speed till your cyclone fury 
Links Pacific with Missouri! 

Let the human lariat run 
Under the stars, under the sun, 

Past the traps the Indians lay, 

Down the trails where bandits prey, 


127 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Through the choking desert lands, 

Through the sucking river sands, 

Up the bald, defiant steeps 

Where grizzly hunts and the cougar leaps, 

Till you clamber the purple crest 

Of the final tower of the challenging West; 

Till Sacramento and Frisco sing 
The saga of man’s conquering! 

Thundering horsemen, gallop anew! 

Beat on our hearts your swift tattoo! 

Search us! Rouse us! Are we loath 
To dream new dreams? Then, out of our sloth, 
Out of the ruin we call success, 

Rally us! Rally us! Pony Express! 


128 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE COMING OF THE 
RAILROAD 
(1828) 


T HE legions of Napoleon march conquer¬ 
ing from France! 

Midst palms and snow the nations know the 
Corsican’s advance! 

But what of Monsieur Cugnot? What hissing 
steed rides he 

That dares to challenge and affright the Emperor’s 
cavalry ? 

Because he scares the people with puffing, screech¬ 
ing cars, 

They thrust the reckless rider behind a prison’s 
bars, 

Yet when at last the flags of France in dire defeat 
are furled, 

The soul of Monsieur Cugnot goes forth to win 
the world! 


129 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


A Wellington! A Nelson! What victories are 
theirs! 

Yet Trevithick, the tinker, for grander fields pre¬ 
pares ! 

Above the war-drum’s rally, the paean of the 
horn, 

Resound his steam-coach whistles from Plymouth 
to Cambourne! 

Among the mad postillions, amidst the frantic 
horses, 

In very truth a conqueror, the proud inventor 
courses! 

A toll-gate lifts to bar the road: “What toll do 
you desire?” 

The tollman trembles at the steed of smoke and 
steam and fire! 


130 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 

“Oh, please, dear devil, do drive on!” the driver 
hears him say, 

“The horse of Satan, noble sir, need not a penny 
pay!” 

America has heard the news, and not to be out¬ 
done, 

She clamors for a horseless coach from good 
George Stephenson! 

Behold, his locomotive comes with dour Scotch 
engine-men— 

Who drive the steed of steam across the State of 
William Penn! 

And though the people fear at first the track will 
lead to Zion, 

They clamber on the “America” and on the 
“Stourbridge Lion”! 

13 * 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Give Britishers due glory; cheer to our native 
sons, 

For now in South Carolina a Yankee engine 
runs! 

Tis kith to “English Rocket” and kin to “Wylem 
Dilly,” 

A clattering twin brother to English “Puffing 
Billy”! 

Hail too her daring passengers, who turn from 
steeds to power 

And ride the Charleston roadway at twenty miles 
an hour; 

But weep for its bold engineer—the safety valve 
he ties 

And blows the locomotive up to steam across the 
skies! 


13 2 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 
’Mid hardships and ’mid peril men laid their nets 


of steel— 

Strong webs that wove the divers States into a 
commonweal! 

Like Titans hurling spears they pierced with steel 
the mountain’s breast, 

And planted steadfast bridges above the tide’s 
unrest, 

Till cities bartered with the farms and with the 
teeming ranges, 

And summoned giant Steam to bear the stuffs of 
their exchanges! 

From Yukon to Floridian shores, by ancient In¬ 
dian trails, 

Ten thousand gleaming cities rose along the link¬ 
ing rails, 


133 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Till now from out the nation’s heart to her re¬ 
motest brood 

By throbbing arteries leaps forth the pulse of 
brotherhood! 


134 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


THE MOTOR AGE 

“ IME to stir! Time to stir!” 



Sings the sleek six-cylinder! 


“Leave your door and explore! 
Quit your land and expand! 

State to state, sea to sea, 

Live in motor Romany! 

Time to flit! Time to flit — 

Step on it!” 

“Not for us! Not for us,” 

Purrs the motor omnibus, 

“Are the locomotive's rails, 

Or the trolley's hampered trails! 
Give us freight! Watch our gait! 
Any load, any road, 

Any fare, anywhere 


135 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


Will be good enough for us!” 

Sings the “omni” motor-bus! 

The haughty Roman senator who rode the Appian 
Way; 

The Briton whose scythed chariot went mowing 
to the fray; 

The slaves who carved the pyramids from out the 
Turah quarry 

And bent their backs beneath the lash with but a 
log for lorry; 

The Canterbury pilgrims who gave old Chaucer 
glee; 

The highwayman who rode at last to fill the 
gallows-tree; 

The friar with his pardons; the minstrel with his 
ditty; 


136 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


The ardent-eyed Crusaders who stormed the Holy 
City; 

The dromedaries tinkling across the Libyan sands; 

The elephants that haul the teak in tangled jungle 
lands; 

The reindeer of the Norsemen; the riders of the 
plain; 

The dog-sleds of Kamchatka; the faltering slave- 
train ; 

All men who laid the highways; all beasts who 
bore the load 

Shall see their strength upgathered; shall mark 
upon the road 

The burdens of the nations—however high they 
tower— 

Borne with the fleetness of the wind by Man’s 
new genie, Power! 


137 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


And Progress shall her shuttle ply in far-flung 
filaments 

Until the lost, lone villages of sullen continents 

Shall waken to the motor’s hail, shall see their 
idols reel 

Before the mud-bespattered god who curses at 
the wheel! 

The summits of the Rockies; Sierra’s towering 
height 

That broke the first brave caravans and mocked a 
nation’s might, 

Shall watch Invention’s chariot rise up from the 
abyss, 

Unfaltering at the sheerest reach, the deepest 
precipice, 

138 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 

Until about the loftiest peak a silver path lies 
curled— 

The gyve that binds the hill-god to the service of 
the world! 

“I am the end!” the climbing coach goes singing 
its creation, 

“In me the spirit of mankind achieves its consum¬ 
mation !” 

Yet as it gloats a shadow floats between it and the 
sun:— 

A man-bird soars; his motor sings: “Our work 
is but begun! 

When you have scaled the steepest crest, does not 
Aldebaran 

Send down across the void of dusk its challenges 
to man? 


139 


A HARP IN THE WINDS 


When we have made the stars our floor and 
spanned the firmament, 

Then Progress may lie down to rest, and mankind 
be content!” 


(i) 


THE END 



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